


life is short, but death is certain, that will always be our burden

by cluttered_fandoms



Category: London Spy
Genre: Gen, M/M, Other: See Story Notes, Present Tense, Swearing, basically a season 2 that never happened, im fixing plotholes, or is it..., the americans name is joe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-30 20:14:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12116379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cluttered_fandoms/pseuds/cluttered_fandoms
Summary: "An Englishman, a Chinaman, a Frenchman, and American, a Russian, an Israeli and a Saudi walk into a bar. And they all agree."They agree that what Alex was working on could not be public. They agree that is must be used for the good of the government's. They agree that it must be perfected."So I want to tell you a story about a man. A man who is in love with another, a man who lives in lies and deceit and doesn’t want to anymore. A man who is locked in a trunk, a man tricked and twisted until he has no choice, a man who lied and was defeated by his own programming. "





	life is short, but death is certain, that will always be our burden

He thinks, perhaps, that he’s driving to his death.

The air around him is tense, the radio off, the only sound that of Frances’ breathing beside him.

Danny shifts his hands on the wheel, watching as the signs for London start counting down the miles. It’s not long now. Then what?

Thinking over the past month or so, of everything that had happened to him and to Scottie and Alex and everyone else caught up in this godforsaken mess, he’s surprised he made it this far.

Why _has_ he made it this far?

 

_An Englishman, a Chinaman, a Frenchman, and American, a Russian, an Israeli and a Saudi walk into a bar. And they all agree._

 

A silver car speeds past him. Frances shifts in her seat.

“Do you have a plan?” She asks, staring out her side window.

Danny’s eyes flick up to the rear-view mirror. The road behind him is empty, unusual for the M25 despite the late hour. Or is it early, by now? “We tell them the truth.”

“How?”

Danny pauses. “I’ll get back to you on that.” He’s been driving throughout the night, and he’s tired in more ways than one.

 

Eventually, the sun breaches the horizon as they pull into Scottie’s house. Or his, now that Danny thinks about it. “Tea?”

“That would be lovely, thank you.”

 

Danny pulls two mugs down from the kitchen side, flicking the kettle on absentmindedly. It boils in seconds – he hadn’t filled it. Frances stands on the other side of the kitchen, still wearing her coat wrapped tightly around her as she watches him go about the kitchen, making up and pouring the tea, like she’s never seen anything like it before.

“Milk, sugar?”

“Black with one please.”

Danny sets the cups down on the table, pulling out a chair and sliding into it like a ragdoll. One eyebrow raised, Frances moves her mug to a coaster and sits with much more grace. They sit there, in silence, until the cups have long been emptied.

“I-” Danny cuts himself off at the sound of the doorbell. “I’ll be right back.”

Frances’ hands are shaking.

 

On socked feet, he makes his way carefully to the door, turns the key, and opens it.

He’s seen this man before.

 

“Hello,” the man greats, holding out his hand. “I don’t think we were properly introduced the first time around, Danny. Care for a sweet?”

Danny stares. The man has removed his hat this time, and he looks freshly shaven, but the American accent and the bag of sweets in his hand is a dead giveaway.

 

“No?” The man sighs, pocketing them again. “May I come in then?”

Danny cocks his head to the side, then steps back. The door is closed behind the American as he enters the house.

 

“Lovely place you’ve got here,” he nods, looking around. “It’s not the same place as Alex described.”

 

Danny freezes, watching the taller man pull another sweet from his pocket. “Who are you?”

 

“Joe.”

 

“Get fucked,” Danny snarls, “who are you really?”

 

“Joe.”

 

A harsh breath is pushed through Danny’s nose as he turns and stalks into the kitchen, collecting the mugs from the table as he passes and leaving them in the sink. Behind him, Frances reaches out and turns on the radio. It’s Radio 2, with the hosts discussing some form of gardening technique.

Danny’s hands grip the sink as he stares out of the window. He cannot show his face right now. “What do you know of Alex?”

 

“More than you.”

 

“Well that’s a given, isn’t it?” Danny spits, twirling around to glare at the stranger. “So tell me.”

 

“An Englishman, a Chinaman, a Frenchman, and American, a Russian, an Israeli and a Saudi walk into a bar. And they all agree.”

 

Frances takes a deep breath. “Tell me about my son.”

 

“They agree that what Alex was working on could not be public. They agree that is must be used for the good of the government's. They agree that it must be perfected.”

 

The room is still. The birds sing.

 

“So I want to tell you a story about a man. A man who is in love with another, a man who lives in lies and deceit and doesn’t want to anymore. A man who is locked in a trunk, a man tricked and twisted until he has no choice, a man who lied and was defeated by his own programming. A man forced to die in the eyes of society, forced to lock down the problems with his mind, and when he doesn’t a man who watches as they inject his lover with HIV, a man who uses his only form of contact as a warning.”

 

Danny’s eye twitches. “The sweet. The pill.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“How?”

 

Frances stands up abruptly. “Is my son alive?”

 

Joe looks at her, considering for a moment. “The mail system nowadays is rather inconvenient. Everyone emails instead. But when your WIFI is down... well, you can’t even google your nearest post box.”

 

The woman’s hands clench on the table top. Her elbows shake and her lips thin. “It’s harder to travel too – so many restrictions on visas.”

Joe nods, smiling.

 

“Hang on,” Danny interrupts, “what the fuck are you on about?”

 

“Language,” they both reprimand simultaneously.

 

“So,” Joe continues, “getting the visa for me to come to the UK was hard enough, but getting it for someone else is just very troublesome in this day and age.”

 

Frances lowers herself back into her seat, a soft smile at the corner of her lips. “But it can be done?”

 

“Given enough time, yes.”

 

“Is no one going to explain to me what the fuck is going on?” Danny interrupts, throwing his hands into the air. His eyes are wild, desperate, hair falling in front of his face and his cheeks sunken and dark.

 

“Of course, if people complain, the problem will be resolved quicker. That’s how it always is.” Joe sighs, swinging his hat back onto his head. “Thank you for your hospitality, but I’m afraid I have to get to work this morning.”

 

“Of course,” Frances smiles, watching him leave the room. The front door opens, and closes, and the two left in the house watch as he walks down the drive towards the road.

 

A moment of silence.

 

“Frances, what is going on.” Danny won’t take anything but an explanation right now, leaning his hands on the table and putting his full weight on them, eyes trained on the woman before him.

 

She sighs. “The students always seem to be protesting something, right?”

 

“Well,” Danny starts, slightly wrongfooted, “yeah, I guess.”

 

“Perhaps a good way to raise some awareness of our plight, would be to join a sit in.”

 

“What would that do?”

 

Frances tips her head back and laughs, measured and controlled. “That’s what they’ll be asking themselves too. And maybe, they’ll forget to pay so much attention to the allocation of visas.”

 

“You want to distract them?”

 

“I want to buy a little bit of time.” Frances smiled.

 

_That woman,_ thinks Danny, _sc_ _ares the shit out of me._

**Author's Note:**

> I've only written this much so far simply because I'm not sure how many people want to read something like this?? Like this came out a while back and I haven't seen much since. If people want it I'll write it.
> 
> The title is a line from a song called I'll Be There by Hollywood Undead.
> 
> It's currently not beta'd and I'm shit at proofreading hmu if I messed up!


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